He didn't respond one way or another, and she knew there was no sense in trying to convince another disbeliever. He devoured his steak as if he hadn't eaten in ages, but worked slower on the rolls and asparagus, and then gulped down two glasses of milk. When he snagged another roll, she studied his face again. She swore when she first saw them, the bruises were dark purple and cuts were deep and bloody in places. But now they looked like they were fading.
"Does your head hurt? Or anywhere else? I don't have anything really strong but I've got headache and backache medicines."
"No, I'm feeling better already."
Now it was her turn to look at him unbelievingly. "Why would you have been swimming in the ocean? You must have some idea."
"Two possibilities. I was pushed or I jumped off one of the cliffs up the coast. Probably drifted to your beach."
Pushed? She couldn't imagine him being the type to jump.
First, she'd put out the word she was going to locate Bethany's killer, now an intended murder victim was staying with her? Bad things come in threes, her grandmother had always said. Michael was found guilty, the electricity was off during an ice storm, and she found a near dead guy on the beach. Oh, and a guy had broken into her home and stolen her gun. That was four in her book. Now was past time for something good to happen.
"You don't remember anything? Except that you like your steak rare?"
He smiled a hair. "I guess that's instinctual."
"Well, it's a good thing you didn't lose all your memory, including how to walk or talk like some do in really bad amnesia cases. Do you at least remember where you live?"
"No." He finished another roll and sat back against the leather footstool, his knees bent, his legs spread, his posture openly sexual, stating he was available if she was, while he studied her with that intense way of his as though he could look into her soul. "So what were you and your brother doing living way out here?"
"Our grandparents gifted us the house when they died. I'm a professional photographer." She motioned to the wall opposite the fireplace where around thirty framed photos picturing wildlife, both flora and fauna hung. "And my brother is an artist. He loves to paint the Oregon Coast in all its moods. His work is now in several galleries across the country. You might have seen a couple of his paintings in the hallway and in the dining room."
"Both of you are very talented. I love the way you capture nature in all its beauty." He observed her photos from where he sat, but the light was fading too much for him to see them well.
Maybe he had gotten a closer look at them earlier when she was changing.
"The way the light plays off the storm-driven waves. The deer eating undisturbed in the sun-mottled forest. Even the seals basking on the rocks near the caves below the cliffs. As if you were an unobtrusive observer preserving nature at its best with one click of the camera," Hunter said, motioning to them.
She could tell he wasn't just making small talk, that their work really touched him, which confirmed what she had assumed about him--he was a rugged outdoorsman. Probably a hunter. She didn't see him as the fisherman type.
Yet something else flickered in his expression. A darkness, or concern. She wasn't sure what.
"What are you going to do now that your brother is gone?"
"Find a way to get him out of prison. I have to discover who Bethany Wade was seeing behind Michael's back. I really believe he's the clue to this."
"If you're right in thinking someone had anything to do with her death, it's too dangerous for you to look into."
What other choice did she have? Not that she would personally chase after a killer. That would be way too risky. She'd hire a good detective who could discover the truth.
"I'm not giving up."
Hunter folded his arms across his chest and speared her a look that said he would have his way or else. "Here's the deal. I need to find out what happened to me. If someone pushed me off a cliff, I don't want whoever did it to know I'm still alive, yet. So I need a nice out-of-the-way place to stay. You require some protection. Michael's window is broken and needs to be repaired. And if you think you locked the back door, then someone used a key to get in. You'll need your locks changed, and I can assist you. In the meantime, I'll snoop into Bethany Wade's death."
Tessa's mouth gaped.
He added, "For room and board."
"But if you can't be seen, how can you investigate?"
"I'll manage."
Again, she had the feeling he knew more about himself than he was letting on. He sounded like he was an undercover operative used to slipping in and out of dangerous situations, unseen and unheard. He certainly was built like a man who physically trained all the time. Plus, he exhibited an unswerving confidence, bordering on out-and-out male arrogance, as she assumed someone in the Special Forces or Rangers would act.
"All right. You can sleep in the spare bedroom."
"I'll sleep wherever you bed down for the night."
That left unbidden thoughts of rugged sex with a mountain man blazing across her brain. She clamped her mouth shut, blinked, and managed to reopen her mouth and say, "Pardon me?"
Chapter 3
IF EVERY MUSCLE HADN'T ACHED SO MUCH--THE PAIN slicing all the way through to the marrow of his bones--the incredulous expression on Miss Tessa Anderson's face would have made him smile. But the situation was too dire to make light of it. He might not remember his whole name or what had happened to him, but one thing the concussion had not robbed him of--his wolf instincts.
They warned him whoever had broken into the house and stolen Tessa's gun had also lain in her bed--on the side of the mattress where she always slept--rolled in her scent and carried it with him. Which meant only one thing. The perpetrator wanted her for his own--and since he was a lupus garou, that was bad news.
Worse than that, she triggered a craving in him to such an extent, he was having a hell of a time tamping down the feelings, and remembering why he had to keep his interest to himself.
Her hair cascaded over her shoulder blades, thick, soft red curls he longed to plunge his fingers in again. Her clear green eyes were tinged blue, not a speck of amber: bright, expressive, not wary as he expected, being that he was a stranger without any memories and here most likely due to foul play.
And the frumpy emerald sweats she wore, although designed to hide a woman's sensuous shape, did nothing of the sort. The swell of her generous breasts, the curve of her thighs, her rounded ass, all were perfectly outlined by the soft attire. No belts or buttons to hinder their removal either.
He took a ragged breath and sat taller, absorbed the heat from the fire, which helped to ease the ache in his bones, and raised his brows. "I'll stay with you wherever you make your bed. The house isn't secure. Either we sleep here by the fire, or if you have enough blankets for your bed, we stay in your room."
If it was up to him, he would have opted for the comfort of the mattress, but most of all snuggling with the woman. But her scent, her pheromones, the feel of her silky hair, the way her soft body had pressed against him--and the kiss--had aroused him to such a degree, everything about her was throwing him off kilter. A one-night stand with a human female was one thing. But he was certain one tumble with her wouldn't satisfy the carnal urge. And since he needed to stay longer to protect her, it was better to keep their relationship as platonic as possible. Yet, the wolf part of him was already heading down a dangerous, forbidden path.
She licked her lips and turned her gaze to the fire. His groin tightened. The light sparkled off her eyes and her moistened lips glistened. He'd been in a half-aroused state ever since the woman had manhandled him on the beach in her tight black denims and breast-hugging turtleneck, dampened by the sleet, her hardened nipples teasing his chest when she had tried to revive him. Even half-conscious, the wolf side of him had been aware of her special scent, sensed her fear--not of him, but for him. If she learned what he was, what he was capable of, she would fear him.